


Personal Couture

by inlovewithnight



Category: Bandom, Cobra Starship
Genre: Boys in Skirts, Gen, Self-Discovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-03
Updated: 2013-12-03
Packaged: 2018-01-03 09:21:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1068777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inlovewithnight/pseuds/inlovewithnight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Asking for what he wants doesn't hurt as much as it was supposed to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Personal Couture

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this tweet](https://twitter.com/GabrielSaporta/status/407678763686563840).

It starts with the shoes.

He says once, just as, like, a joke, mostly, that it makes him sad that all of Erin's shoes are so pretty but so tiny. She has dainty little feet, and his are giant, so he can't ever wear them, and that bums him out.

It was a _joke_.

A week later three pairs of custom designer heels are lined up neatly on his pillow when he gets home from the studio. A butterfly post-it is on the sheet beside them, reading _xoxo erin_.

His heart jumps up into his throat and he has to leave again, has to walk around the block four or five times before he comes home.

She doesn't say anything. She's always so patient.

He picks up a shiny black pump with a four-inch heel and runs his finger along the sole.

If this is what love feels like, he was doing it really wrong for a really long time.

**

"What did you think of the kilt?" Pete asks at the after-party, half-hiding the words behind his glass.

Gabe pets him on the shoulder, remembering when that question would've made Pete stutter and shake, when he would've been too curled up with self-loathing to strut down that runway with a smile instead of a wounded, challenging look. This is better. Pete's so strong.

"You looked awesome," he says.

Pete grins up at him, then looks away to find Meagan. Gabe breathes in and out and wonders if Erin will still be awake when he gets home. He kind of hopes not. He needs to think before he can speak, right now. It's a new thing he's trying out.

**

"Can you make me something?" he asks her, keeping his eyes on the TV. "Just a sample. It doesn't have to be good."

She's quiet until he can't take it anymore and looks at her. She's good at waiting him out.

"Of course it will be good," she says calmly, and picks up a sketchbook. "Knee or ankle-length?"

"Above the knee," he mumbles.

That didn't hurt as much as it was supposed to.

**

It's deep purple silk with black accents, the exact opposite of her color palette, something that reflects him in a way he didn't even know she _knew_.

How did she know?

Is _that_ what love is?

**

He sends Pete a picture, a down-shot of his legs. Skirt lying flat against his dumb hairy thighs, then his bony knees, dumb hairy calves, strappy black sandals. He looks stupid.

Pete replies, _fucking fab._

_fetherston original_ , Gabe types back.

_a+ :) :) :)_

Gabe licks his lips and puts his phone down. Who knew things could be easy?

**

He comes up behind Erin and wraps his arms around her, resting his chin on her shoulder. "Thanks," he whispers in her ear.

"For what?" She turns her head and presses an awkward kiss to his cheekbone. "Silly."

"I dunno. Nothing. Everything. Stuff."

"My poetic paramour." She taps her finger against his wrist. "How do you feel about red chiffon?"

He closes his eyes and lets himself smile, just a little, just enough. "I could be persuaded."


End file.
